


In Which Charlie and Cas Go Shopping

by Amelia_Clark



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Background Destiel, Backslash Fic, Cas smashes the gender binary, Clothes Shopping, M/M, MONTAGE!!, S9 sort of but not really, aviator sunglasses, basically me playing Misha Collins paper dolls, elbow patches, friend fic, like happy parallel universe S9, yummy sushi pajamas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 14:57:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1652735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amelia_Clark/pseuds/Amelia_Clark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You know, dude, just cause you're dating Dean doesn't mean you have to dress like him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Charlie and Cas Go Shopping

**Author's Note:**

> Here, have some fluff before the finale kills us all.
> 
> This is actually inspired by a tweet by the brilliant [Rainbow Rowell](https://twitter.com/rainbowrowell/status/457987327508639744) (you've read _Fangirl,_ right? GO READ IT NOW), about how great it'd be to read fic about Captain America and Black Widow just hangin' out being BFFs and never wanting to kiss ever. I suggested this should be called "backslash fic," and then I really really wanted to write this.

"You know, dude, just cause you're dating Dean doesn't mean you have to dress like him."

Startled, Cas looks up from his cornflakes to see Charlie leaning in the doorway in her yummy sushi pajamas, arms folded and a smirk on her face. "Excuse me?"

"I mean, look at you," she continues, gesturing, "is that even, like, a different Persons of Letters robe, or is it just his?"

Cas pets the soft gray fabric protectively. "Dean's still asleep, he doesn't need it. Why would it bother you?"

Charlie shrugs, wanders over towards the toaster. "It doesn't bother _me,_ Cas, but doesn't it bug you just the slightest bit that all your clothes are hand-me-overs from your boyfriend? Dean's awesome and all, but he kinda has the wardrobe of a middle-aged lesbian. Don't you ever want to wear, I dunno, bright colors?"

"I don't know that I've ever thought about it," says Cas, considering. He moved into Dean's room, into his bed—it just seemed logical to borrow his clothes as well. And he likes it, putting on shirts he remembered pulling off Dean, feeling fabric against his skin that has felt the same way against Dean's. Wearing Dean's clothes is almost like touching him, being touched, all the time. The robe, in particular, isn't washed often, and so it smells like Dean, too, wraps around Cas like an embrace.

But apparently there's something wrong with this, because Charlie is wrinkling her nose at him over her shoulder while she loads a s'mores Pop-Tart into the toaster. "Come on, I know you two are joined at the tongue these days, but you need to have your own taste in things. It's pretty important."

"Why? Does Dean have incorrect taste in things?"

She snort-laughs. "Well, yeah, but that's not it." She pours herself some coffee, dumps several teaspoonfuls of sugar into the cup. "I know you haven't been human that long, and it's easier to just do whatever Dean does. But the thing about Dean? Both the Winchesters, really. They're super good at monsters and stuff, but not so hot on the everything else. Like, if you base being human on what they do? That way lies madness. Plus and also, romance-wise, it's not healthy to have _everything_ in common. You gotta be able to do your own thing, angelcakes."

Cas frowns. "I don't know what 'my own thing' is."

"Yeah, see, that's what I'm talking about," Charlie says around a mouthful of pastry. "You won't know unless you try, and sticking around here ain't doing you any favors. Well, except for all that dude-on-dude boots-knockin' you can't seem to keep quiet. Sam and I are multiply scarred for life, y'know."

"Apologies," Cas says, blushing furiously. "We do try. But Dean can be very enthusiastic."

“Uh, don’t undersell. Would not have pegged him as a screamer. I mean, _I_ wouldn’t have pegged him at all, but…let’s talk about something else.” She shudders and grabs her mug, flopping down on a chair across from Cas. “Fashion. Lack thereof. You know what you should do? No, wait,” with a little jump of delight as an idea strikes her, “you know what _we_ should do? Today? Let’s go shopping!”

Cas tilts his head and narrows his eyes, a polite beagle being asked to do an unfamiliar trick. "Shopping?"

"Yeah! Like a full-on makeover montage from an 80s movie!" Charlie's fully awake now, hands fluttering like hummingbirds. "We'll have to leave town, definitely no malls in Lebanon. Think Dean can spare you for the day?"

"Spare him for what?" Dean shuffles into the kitchen in pajama pants and T-shirt, eyelids at half-mast. "Oh, that's where my robe went," he mutters on his way to the coffeemaker.

"Charlie is adamant that I need my own clothes," Cas tells him.

"Why? My jeans are a little long on you, but you've got your own suit that fits. I like you in my clothes." He reaches back to ruffle Cas's hair.

Charlie rolls her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, and out of them, too, I get it, guys. Cas needs to find his own style, Dean. I mean, you fell for him in a freakin' Columbo costume, it's not like anything he wears'll be a turnoff."

Dean gulps too-hot coffee, bares his teeth in momentary pain. "I guess. If you want to, Cas. Where you gonna go?"

Charlie frowns. "For being in the middle of the country you're pretty much in the middle of nowhere. How far to KC, like four hours?"

"It's three to Wichita," says Dean. "Or Lincoln."

"How very exotic," she sighs. "All right, time for some research. If you're down, that is." She looks at Cas, hands up, palms out, wiggles her fingers excitedly.

"I'm happy to go with you on this excursion, but what’s that gesture?" Cas asks warily. "Am I meant to respond?"

"Spirit fingers, obvy," she says. "Dude, after the clothes, you need to watch some movies."

"I don't get that reference either," says Dean.

"OK, movie night. When we get back, I'm gonna put chick flicks in your face, you're gonna love it. Right now? **MONTAGE!!!** "

*******

They opt for Lincoln in the end; Charlie finds Yelp listings for a couple resale shops that look promising. Cas has to move back the passenger seat in her yellow Gremlin, a car half the size he’s used to, but the trip passes comfortably after that, with Charlie’s iPod throwing out Ratatat and the Shire theme in turn.

She holds the door open for Cas, who lingers on the threshold, eyes adjusting after hours on the sunny freeway. The shop smells faintly of dust, like the bunker's many storerooms, but unlike them it's a riot of color, racks of mismatched clothes spread out in mazelike profusion. A speaker somewhere to his left thumps a regular bass line through the room.

"Well?" Charlie says. "Menswear, I guess? Unless you wanna look at dresses. Not much for 'em myself, but, I mean, smash the gender binary, right? Whatever draws you to it, that's fine with me."

Cas looks around, trying to be drawn by something, and breathes a sigh of relief when he sees a rack of coats hanging along one wall. He walks over to it confidently and starts to page through them, stopping at a long khaki trench. "I like this," he says.

"Really? Another trenchcoat?"

He can tell by her tone it's the wrong choice. "What? I feel very comfortable in a coat like this. I wore one for years."

"And that's good," she says, relenting a little, "comfortable is good, but...oh, sweetie, don't you want to branch out? That was your angel getup, both times, and right now you're doing Dean cosplay," gesturing at his nondescript jeans and faded gray AC/DC shirt. "I know it must be overwhelming, when you haven't thought about what to wear in, like, millennia—but it can also be fun, decorating yourself. You can say all sorts of different things with what you're wearing. Just try stuff, OK? Heck, grab things at random. I'll tell you if it's awful, you can trust me."

And over the next few hours, at stores both old and new (Charlie can never resist the kids' department at Target, coming away with a new Hello Kitty tee and days-of-the-week superhero underwear), they do just that. Cas selects an outfit, models it, and Charlie says yea or nay...

A bright red Cornhuskers jersey, hanging loose on his lithe frame, and matching shorts: "Uh, no. Well, you could work out in the shorts I guess. But don’t, please."

A 70s tuxedo, navy velvet jacket with ruffled powder blue shirt: "Not unless you’re inviting Dean to classic rock prom."

A charcoal sweater with elbow patches: "YES. Hot professor!"

Skinny jeans: "You've got a sweet ass for a guy, you know that? Careful where you wear those, Dean might end up punching someone in the face for checking you out."

A black leather motorcycle jacket with buckles jangling: "Hells yeah!" Charlie crows. "What are you rebelling against?" (Cas frowns and tentatively suggests "Heaven?" before she answers herself in the next breath.)

He browses women's sections too, trying on pencil skirts that bunch oddly around his narrow hips, flowered sundresses that flutter like butterflies when he spins at Charlie's urging; he buys one of the latter, black with red poppies, the hem barely skimming his kneecaps, as well as a yellow tartan kilt misfiled with similarly patterned skirts.

A purple striped tie is the first thing that Cas puts his foot down about despite her veto. "I want this," he says. "I don't know why, I just do." Charlie admits that's exactly what they're aiming for, and digs up a black button-down and gray blazer that she claims tip the ensemble over into "appealingly dorky" from "all aboard the nope train." Whatever that means.

Everywhere, there are T-shirts of varying hue, ringers and V-necks, screen-printed and be-sloganed. She approves of a few designs: a green that reminds him of Dean's eyes, a woodcut of a crashing wave, the mysterious statement "We Aim to Misbehave."

At their last stop, an army surplus store, they outfit him for hunting, combat boots and fatigues; and Charlie plunks a pair of aviator sunglasses on his nose while he stands in line. "Those are perf," she coos. "Feathers, I think we've got a good start! Pick something out to wear home for maximum bf impact."

She refuses to offer advice, but nods in approval when Cas rummages through bags and selects the black button-down shirt, dark blue skinny jeans, and combat boots. After a quick stop at a gas station so he can change, they head back to the bunker. 

Sam and Dean are in the library when they make their entrance—or, rather, when Cas makes his, striding in with shoulders squared, as if he’s still got wings to pull out at any moment. Dean’s doing an excellent impression of a goldfish when Sam greets them: “Hey, guys. Nice threads, Cas.”

“They’ll look better on our floor,” Cas says, smoldering bluely at Dean. 

Sam cracks up, as does Charlie. “You told him to say that, right?” he asks her.

“No, actually. Our little angel’s all grown up,” she says. “Uh, you wanna play some Civ 5?” she adds as Dean—who still hasn’t managed a word—hoists Cas into a fireman’s carry and heads off down the hall.


End file.
